Things I Will Keep
by Penny-in-the-sky
Summary: There are two kinds of greeting cards: the kind you throw out and the kind you think are worth holding on to. Ron distinguishes between the two while in the hospital wing. Companion piece to I can't talk about it.


Things I Will Keep

----------------------------

**Author's Note:** Ahead lie copious amounts of fluff. Consider yourselves warned.

**Disclaimer:** I have no clever way of doing these, so here goes: JK Rowling owns everything Harry Potter. "Things I will keep" is a très good song, courtesy of Guided by Voices. Go listen.

----------------------------

"You've got to be joking."

Harry sounded as incredulous as Ron felt. They both stared in awe at the object Ron was holding at arm's length, as though fearful it might bite. And his precautions weren't unfounded, were they? Who knew what this monstrosity could actually do…

"Unfortunately not." Ron shook his head, wishing it were indeed all just an elaborate joke of the twins'.

"But seriously, who _buys _something like that?"

Ron snorted. "Lavender Brown, is who. I'll bet she alone keeps this whole ruddy business afloat."

At that, there was a loud series of _chirrup!_s and they both jumped.

"Does it do that often?" Harry asked, eyeing the object with enormous scepticism.

"Every fifteen minutes or so, yeah."

"And what happens if you actually, you know… open it?"  
Ron stared at him, wide-eyed and alarmed. "Oh no, no, no… You don't think I'd actually open it, do you? I'm not _that_ daft."

"You mean you haven't even read it yet?" Harry said, surprised. "Then how can you be so sure it's from Lavender?" Though, as Ron raised his eyebrows and pointed to the hideous excuse for a Get Well card in his hand, Harry seemed to reconsider. "Oh. Right."

Ron sighed. "Anyway, I reckon I'll just put it away and pray she never asks about it."

But now, a slight grin had formed on Harry's face. "Aw, come on, Ron. Don't you want to see what's inside?"

Ron looked at him, shuddering at the thought of what horrors may lie beyond this godawful exterior. "No, I don't!" Then, warningly, "And I swear, Harry, if you try something…"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said and raised his hands as though to prove his innocence, but the grin was still present.

"Harry, I _swear--_"

"Relax, Ron, I won't."

Ron narrowed his eyes dangerously at him for good measure, but settled for trusting him. A decision that proved unwise, as seconds later the card was ripped from his hands. Harry quickly jumped from his seat and out of reach of Ron's desperately flailing arms.

"Harry! You big prat! Don't make me get out of this bed--"

"You're not allowed, though, are you?" Harry was standing with the card above his head, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.

"I mean it, Harry! Give it back! Right now!" Ron tried to sound authoritative but realised as he saw Harry's grin widen slightly that he was failing miserably.

"I will. In a second. I just think it's heartless of you to even consider not opening this thing. I mean, it being from your girlfriend and all…" He brought the card down and turned it over in his hands, studying it from different angles. "All I want is what's best for Lavender. You know that, Ron."

"I swear, Harry, you will be in so much pain…"

But his supposed friend only looked up at him, smirked, and -- as Ron watched in horror -- opened the card he was holding.

Instantly, the room filled with an absolute cacophony of bird sounds. Twittering, chirping, hooting; all mashed together into such a hideous and disharmoniousbedlamthat Ron thought his eardrums would crack in pure protest. Pressing his hands over his ears, he yelled at Harry, "Just shut the damn thing, will you?"

But Harry, seemingly unfazed by the chaotic pattern of sound waves in the room, just raised his eyebrows as he studied the card. "Well, would you look at that? There's a note and all."

"HARRY! Don't you DARE--"

"'Dearest Ron," Harry read aloud in a singsong voice.

"You git," Ron hissed. "Just wait 'til I'm allowed to leave this bed…"

But Harry appeared not to notice. Or perhaps he just took Ron's threat rather lightly. Anyhow, he continued, "You don't have a clue how much I miss you. When we're apart, there's an ache in my heart -- oh, hey, it's a poem!" He looked thoroughly pleased as he eyed through the rest of the card. "A long one, too. Lavender's really made an effort, eh?"

Ron was about to bring out his notorious arsenal of colourful and inventive profanities to shoot at Harry, but before he could take aim, the curtains were drawn back and a highly annoyed Madam Pomfrey appeared.

"What's this racket?" she demanded. Not waiting for a reply, she spotted the card in Harry's hand and snatched it from him. With a look of utter disgust, she slapped it shut, and the room went silent. Ron tentatively lowered his hands from his ears, which were buzzing as though they were playing host to a dozen hummingbirds. "Thanks," he said.

Madam Pomfrey just glared at him. "I will have no further disturbance of the peace in this ward. Is that clear? Mr Weasley? Mr Potter?"

They both nodded. She eyed them suspiciously for another few moments, then turned to leave. Though, after a few steps, she turned back to address Ron. "And Mr Weasley?"

"Yes?"

"If any more of those hideous greeting cards arrive, I hope and trust that you do not open them until you're someplace more… _private. _No matter how anxious you are to read them."

Ron's face burned as she stalked off and briskly pulled the curtains shut. "What's so bloody amusing?" he snapped at Harry, who was hugging himself and shaking from withheld laughter.

"Nothing," Harry managed and snorted through his nose in the process. How charming.

"Then you can bloody well stop laughing!"

"Not… laughing…" Harry let out in gasps.

Ron scowled at him. "Yeah, I can see that. Well, next time some fourth-year who's hung up on you tries to trick you into downing love potion, don't expect me to show any sympathy, alright?"

"Oh yeah, like I'm the one who needs to be warned about taking love potion." He was smirking now. The git.

"They were lying among my presents! How the hell was I supposed to know they'd make me act like a complete idiot?"

"Well, I guess I can't blame you," Harry said and grinned. "If someone puts candy in front of you, you eat it. It's just a reflex, isn't it? Can't be helped."

Swoosh!

A pillow sailed through the air and hit Harry full in the face. "Ow! You prat!" He adjusted his glasses as Ron roared with laughter. Little feathery bits of dune puffed out from a hole in the seam as Harry picked the pillow up from the floor. Raising it above his head, he grinned devilishly and said, "I'll get you back for that, you--" then stopped mid-sentence and looked beyond Ron. "Oh, hey, Hermione!"

Ron's stomach knotted itself up nice and tight, at the same time as his heart sped up to twice its normal pace. It was pathetic, really. He turned around, almost apprehensively.

And there she was. Sticking her head through the gap between the curtains, looking nervous and more than a little bewildered as her eyes shifted between Harry and the pillow he was holding. Her hair was crazier than ever and her hand was clutching the curtain tightly. "Hello," she said, her voice kind of weird. "Um… what are you doing?"

Ron couldn't see if Harry shrugged or not -- his eyes were fixed on Hermione -- but he imagined he did. Harry generally shrugged a lot. And there was indeed a shrug-lengthed pause before he said, "Just thought I'd throttle Ron with this pillow here. What did you think I was doing?"

Hermione swallowed. "Well, I… No, that's pretty much what I thought." Then she nodded and looked around her. At the ceiling, the floor, the foot of the bed and the flowers standing on the metal tray there. Anywhere but at Ron, basically. It wouldn't do, he decided. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, he croaked out, "Hi."

And of course she had to look at him then. It would've been rude not to. Though it was more of a glance, really. And was it his imagination or did her grip on the curtain tighten slightly? She said, "Oh, hi Ron," in a manner probably meant to suggest she hadn't even noticed him before that. He would've laughed if he wasn't too busy feeling sick to his stomach. Why did he have to get this nervous? It was ridiculous. He wanted to say something more, show her he didn't think this was the least bit awkward, but his vocal cords seemed very unwilling to co-operate. So she was the first one to speak again. Looking between him and Harry, she said, "Uh… I can come back later, if the two of you were, uh… were busy…"

Ron wanted to say yes. He wouldn't have minded another few hours, or days even, to prepare himself for this meeting with Hermione. He'd known it would come, of course. He'd known since he woke up yesterday that she'd come visit him eventually, but he'd hoped it would be later rather than sooner, so he'd have time to figure out what to say, and not have to look like a dumb fool. As he was currently doing.

But since Ron's voice was still highly uncooperative, Harry was given the time to say, "No, it's okay. I can throttle him later." He replaced the pillow on Ron's bed and mimed dusting off his hands. "Right. I think I need to, er… get back to the common room and, er… finish my homework, 'cause I'm -- hrm -- _way _behind, really…" And then he was gone, before either of them had time to respond.

Ron couldn't help snorting. For some reason, Harry's pathetic excuse to make a sudden exit calmed his nerves a little. "Well, that was subtle," he said.

Hermione cast him a sidelong glance, and he saw her visibly relax upon seeing his grin. She let out a small laugh. "Very." And it seemed she considered it safe to enter after this minor icebreaker, because she moved past the curtains and took a few steps towards the bed. There she stood with her hands behind her back, looking rather awkward. "So… how are you feeling?"

How was he feeling? Like someone had wrapped plastic foil tightly around his upper body and he couldn't breathe properly. But instead he said, "Pretty good. Bit queasy still, but it's better than yesterday." Then, to elaborate, "I was retching all over the place."

It seemed the image was all too vivid in her mind, judging by her expression. "Oh. That sounds… uh…"

"Revolting?"

She offered him a small smile. "Well, that's one way to put it." Taking another small step forward, she shifted her gaze to a particularly colourful bouquet of flowers on the table, then took one hand out from behind her back and reached up to touch the petals. He stared at her fingers, transfixed.

"These are lovely," she said.

Ron's voice wanted to run off and hide again, but he'd be damned if he let it do so. "Yeah," he managed with some effort. "They're from Mum and Dad."

She nodded and leaned over to sniff at the flowers. He wondered what they smelled like. "I know."

"You do?"

"Yes. I was here when they brought them in."

Something warm and spherical landed in Ron's stomach and he shifted slightly. "You were?"

She turned to look at him. At first, it seemed she was searching for words, then she settled for a simple, "M-hm," and looked away again, pressing her lips firmly shut.

The plastic foil around Ron's chest loosened slightly as he processed this information. She'd been here when he was unconscious. She'd sat by his bedside. Or stood by it, at the very least. He scratched his head. "So you were here? When I was… out?"

Her eyes met his again, and now she looked a bit annoyed. Offended, even. "Of course I was, Ron! Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged, feeling flustered. "I dunno, I just thought… Well, you know…"

She shook her head. "No, I don't."

Aw, bugger. He'd have to spell it out, did he? She never could go easy on him. Steeling himself, he said, "I thought you were, you know… _mad_. Not, like, _crazy_, but mad." Then, to clarify, "At me."

A thick silence followed this. She stood there staring at him, her hand still touching the flower petals and her expression unreadable. He wondered if it had been a bad move to speak so openly about their fight. If it could even be called a fight. Ever since that night in the corridor, when she'd broken down and yelled at him, he'd been looking for some sign from her that it had indeed happened, that he hadn't just imagined it. But she'd so expertly managed to avoid him, and when they for whatever reason came into contact with each other, she'd pretended like he wasn't even there. But now, she acknowledged him, and -- besides showing signs of slight discomfort -- acted as if they'd never been anything but the best of friends. Why shouldn't he be confused?

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke. "Does it matter, really?" Her gaze shifted back to the flowers. "You're my friend. I'd have come either way."

To Ron's horror, he felt a hot prickling under his eyelids and he blinked rapidly, utterly thankful that Hermione had looked away. "Ruddy good friend I've been," he said hoarsely, more to himself than to her. Quickly, he cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on a small hole in the bedspread. He knew she was looking at him again. He could feel it.

"What do you mean, Ron?"

He looked up to find her eyes indeed boring into him. Feeling a twinge of annoyance, he clenched his jaw. She knew the answer to her own question, he could tell from her expression, but apparently she once again wanted him to elaborate. And as the less than eloquent person he was, he _hated _elaborating. But he'd humour her. He always did.

"Well, I've been a pretty useless friend lately, haven't I? And I don't blame you if you _are_… you know. Mad. At me."

He desperately wanted to look away. This eye contact felt physically strenuous. But he forced himself to keep his gaze steadily locked with hers.

"I'm not mad." Her voice seemed far too small. "Not anymore. How could I be?"

And then her face transformed and she looked desperate, agitated, on the verge of tears, all at once. Ron drew in a sharp breath as he watched her take another quick step forward. She spoke hurriedly, and in a pained voice.

"We thought we'd lost you, Ron! Nobody told us the full story 'til we got up here, and even then they didn't even know if… And we all sat here by your bed, and you were all pale and seemed to be in such a deep sleep that we all thought… well, at least _I_ thought, that if maybe… I mean, there was a chance -- no, a _risk_ -- that you'd never…" She shook her head and grimaced, not wanting to go there. "And then we weren't even allowed to sit with you anymore. Your parents could, of course, and Ginny and your brothers stayed quite a while, but Harry and I… We had to go back. Sit in the common room and not have a clue what was happening. And it was the most awful… It was just… We couldn't… _I _couldn't…"

She clutched a hand to her chest and shook her head again, looking pale and horrified. "I couldn't lose you, Ron. Not like that. Not _ever_."

His head was spinning and his heart was racing and he opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a finger to shush him. "No, wait. I'm not done." She swallowed hard and looked down, then up at him again, her expression a curious mix of determination and fear. "While we were sitting here, and while I was in the common room with Harry that night, and all the horrible hours before we got word that you'd woken up, all I could think about was the vile things we've said to each other lately, and how if you would… Well, if you'd actually… Oh, I can't even say it! It's too terrible… But that's why I didn't come see you straight away, and I'm so, so sorry I didn't! You must've thought me an awful friend to not rush here once I heard you were awake. But I was just scared, Ron." She looked almost pleading now. "And I still am. I'm scared you don't want to be my friend at all. Ever again. But whatever you feel, I still have to say this."

She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "I think we've both been stupid, and too proud and stubborn for our own good, and no matter what happens, and how hurt or upset we get, we should always be able to say sorry. There shouldn't be anything more important than us being friends."

Silence fell as Ron sat, dumb-struck, looking at Hermione's defiant, worried, expectant expression and trying to get his head around what had just been said. He felt flushed and feverish and his mouth was dry as a desert. Finally, he managed a timid-sounding, "No, there shouldn't be."

Her face softened at this and she looked relieved and pleased. "Okay. So I'll go first." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I've been so… difficult."

That's one way of putting it, he thought with a silent chuckle and relaxed a little. "Well… I'm sorry I've been such a prat."

She nodded, almost in agreement, but he could hardly blame her. "I'm sorry I avoided you for so long."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry I let you avoid me."

The look in her eyes told him it was the right reply, and he felt pleased with himself. She smiled, a bit guiltily, and said, "I'm sorry I didn't get you a birthday present."

"You didn't get me a present?" he said with mock-indignation and grinned at the face she made. Then he remembered something that had been gnawing at his conscience for a long time. "I'm sorry I made fun of you that time in Transfiguration." He almost broke eye contact at this. But only almost.

She gave him a small smile and shrugged. "Not as sorry as I am for laughing at your moustache, I'm sure. Men and their facial hair… it's a sensitive issue, isn't it?"

He laughed, relieved. "Yeah, definitely." Then he turned serious again. 'Cause if he didn't get it out now, he never would. "I'm sorry I ignored our… our date."

He was worried this might be taking it too far, and that she'd clam up and walk off. But he needn't have worried. Merely blushing faintly, she replied, "And I'm sorry I sent those birds at you." She eyed him worriedly. "I hope they didn't hurt you too much?"

He grinned. "Just a few scrapes and scratches. I guess I got what I deserved."

She shook her head. "No. It was petty of me. I should've been… I should've been happy for you. About Lavender."

His stomach knotted itself up again and his throat constricted. Her face had fallen visibly, despite her valiant efforts to look sincere as she made this last statement. One hand was resting on the edge of the bed, mere inches from his foot. He thought he could sense the heat it radiated. It was probably his imagination.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse again. "No, you… I understand if you… if you weren't too happy about it."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out, so she shut it again. Her gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere around his left knee, and as her head was slightly turned, he could see the side of her neck. He thought he could make out her pulse, too. But again, it was probably just his imagination.

"You…" he began, not sure what to say to make his apology more heartfelt. "You had every right to send blood-thirsty canaries at me."

He hadn't meant to sound anything less than deadly serious, but her lips curved into a smile as she kept her eyes on his knee. It made him bolder. "No, I mean it, Hermione. In fact, I don't think canaries were quite vicious enough as a punishment for my crime. Next time, you could experiment with some Cornish Pixies. Or Pygmy Puffs even." Her smile grew even wider. "Not that there'll be a next time, mind."

"Well, I should hope there won't be," she said, and then she raised her hand and moved it to rest on Ron's ankle.

All neural activity in his body immediately turned its attention to this. He hardly dared to breathe. A disturbance of any kind could cause her to remove her hand, and breathing -- as innocent as it may seem -- was definitely a disturbance. Besides, who needed oxygen, really? As long as that hand remained on his ankle, he'd be leading a perfectly happy life. Air-deprived and short, yes. But happy.

"She asked me about you."

"Who?" Ron was busy imagining what it would feel like if Hermione were to move her hand slightly further up.

"Lavender."

This effectively halted Ron's galloping mind. "Oh." He felt that familiar wave of guilt wash over him; the one that used to come whenever his girlfriend was mentioned while his mind was on… someone else. "What about?"

She crossed one leg over the other and leaned with her hip against the bedside. But she didn't move her hand. Thank God. "Just… just if I thought it was okay for her to come see you today. I said it probably was."

Ron couldn't help but make a face at this. He did not feel nearly strong enough to take on Lavender quite yet.

"Don't look like that!" Hermione admonished. "She's really anxious to see you again!"

He rushed to defend himself. "And I'm anxious to see her!" A big fat lie, that was, but hopefully she wouldn't notice. "It's just… I mean, I'm still really tired, and she's a bit… A bit…" He scrunched up his face, searching for words.

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Intense?" she offered.

"Yeah," he said and felt his face flush. "You could say that."

Hermione shrugged. Her smile was sad now and her voice was soft when she spoke. "You can't hold it against her, Ron. She's just crazy about you. That's all."

This hit Ron in a way he wasn't prepared for. For some reason, the thought of Lavender actually regarding him as anything more than a suitable instrument to satisfy her snogging needs made him feel quite uneasy.

No. _Queasy_, more like.

"You reckon?" He was a bit sceptical. Sure, she _did _profess her undying love for him every now and then, but he'd always thought it was just a girl thing. Standard procedure. Keeping the boat afloat and all that.

Hermione nodded, slowly. "I do."

It seemed for a moment that she wanted to say something else, and Ron sat there silent and expectant. All of a sudden, the air was charged, and he had a thrilling suspicion that something grand and unforeseen could be about to happen. What, he wasn't sure of. But whatever it was, he wanted it. He really, really wanted it.

But no such luck. Instead, she removed her hand from his ankle -- he scarcely managed to refrain from calling out in protest -- and took a step back. Suddenly she seemed miles away.

"I have to go," she said, her tone as weird as it had been when she'd first come in. "I'd like to stay longer, but I've got _so_ much homework to do. It's ridiculous, really."

"Yeah, okay," he said, bewildered.

"I'll come back tomorrow. I promise."

"Sure. Do that."

She nodded. "Well… bye, then."

"Yeah, bye. "

She turned to leave and he watched her, his mind numb and his chest aching. If he hadn't been such a bloody coward, he might've spoken up and asked her to stay. Show that he wanted her to. But he _was _a coward. And she was leaving.

Or was she? She halted by the curtains, reached a hand into the deep pocket of her cardigan and -- after a moment's hesitation -- turned back towards him.

"I… I've got something for you," she said timidly. There was a splotch of red on each of her cheeks and she looked so tiny and cute that Ron wanted to spring out of bed and draw her into a tight hug. Thank heavens he wasn't allowed to move.

"Yeah?"

She nodded quickly, then took a step forward. "Like I said, I didn't get you a birthday present. But I did get you a card."

She was holding it in her hands now, and kept her eyes fixed on it as she spoke, rather rapidly. "It was way back in August. In Diagon Alley. Don't ask me why I bought it so early on, I don't have a clue. Or, well, I do. I just saw it, and I liked it, and I thought of you, and… and I thought I might as well buy it and hang onto it 'til your birthday. I even wrote it back then. Silly, I know, but… well, I just felt like it. Anyway… here you go."

She handed it to him, a bit reluctantly. He noticed her hands were shaking slightly. "Thanks," he said, then, "Hey, cool!"

It wasn't a very big card, and it wasn't multi-coloured or bird-shaped like Lavender's. Just white and rectangular, but with a shimmering, metallic broomstick flying back and forth across the surface.

"No, wait," she said as he moved to open the card. He looked up. "Uh… can you just… I mean, I'm leaving now anyway, so if you could just wait and maybe… well, _not_ read it yet."

He could hardly refuse her when she looked so embarrassed and adorable. "Sure, I'll wait."

"Okay." She smiled now, a warm, heartfelt, radiant smile, and his heart fluttered in response. As it should. "Well… I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, definitely. You'll find me in the same place, I'm sure. Just hanging out."

She laughed softly and reached out to gently brush the back of his hand with her own. How he managed to not grab her fingers and hold on was beyond him. "I'm so glad you're okay. And I'm glad we talked. Properly."

"Yeah, me too." She had no idea how much. It seemed months of inner torment were finally over and he felt like leaping up and doing a spontaneous jig. Again, thank _heavens _he wasn't allowed to leave the bed, because _that _would have looked ruddy stupid.

"So… tomorrow."

He nodded firmly. "Tomorrow."

She looked as happy and relieved as he felt as she gave a little wave and disappeared through the curtains.

He realised he was still sporting a -- most likely -- fantastically goofy grin, but he didn't care. It was a day for goofy grins. No doubt about it.

Returning his attention to the card in his hands, he opened it and ran his eyes over the neat handwriting inside.

"Dear Ron,

Happy birthday! My Dad, who's a nut when it comes to numbers, thinks 17 is a big deal. Why? Because it can only be divided with itself and with 1.

Even though I doubt that's the reason why you're so excited to turn 17, I hope your year will indeed be special and bring you everything you wish for. And I plan to be there to share it with you (that's figuratively speaking… I won't steal your birthday chocolates. I promise.)

Love, Hermione"

Ron felt that alarming, prickling sensation under his eyelids again. _August_. She'd written this back in August. She'd bought him a card and written a personal, sweet, _fantastic _little note to him more than six months before his birthday.

What did that mean, exactly? He didn't know. Probably that she was crazy, which he already knew. And that she was brilliant. Which he also knew.

And, apparently, she wanted to be there to share the good stuff with him. Ron found himself thinking that maybe what he had thought must've been the worst birthday ever, might actually have been a bit of a blessing in disguise. If he hadn't been poisoned, he wouldn't have ended up in the hospital wing, and Hermione wouldn't have come to see him, and they wouldn't have said their respective 'sorry's, and they wouldn't have been on speaking terms, and he wouldn't have been able to start off his "new year" with Hermione as his friend, so that she could, in fact, be there to share the good stuff. With him.

Pleased at this sudden insight, he closed the card and carefully slipped it under his mattress. He'd keep it there for the time being, just to be safe. Or else maybe Madam Pomfrey might come in, spot the card and think it was from the same person who sent the hideous birdsong-extravaganza, and maybe she'd consider that reason enough to chuck it out. And he couldn't risk that.

He fluffed up the pillows behind his back and just had time to lean into them before he heard voices outside.

"He's had enough visitors today," Madam Pomfrey was saying and Ron pricked up his ears. Did she mean him? "And he really needs to rest if he's going to make a swift recovery."

"But I'm his girlfriend! Why shouldn't I be allowed to see him?"

Ron froze in horror. Not Lavender. Not now. He wanted to call out to Madam Pomfrey, tell her that yes, he was in fact feeling quite tired and less than presentable, so could she possibly ask his visitor to come back later? But for some reason he couldn't get a word out.

He understood that Lavender must be putting on quite an emotional show out there -- probably tears and all -- because after a while Madam Pomfrey spoke again, in a softer voice, "All right, dear. You can see him. But make it short."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, _thank you_! I'll be out of there in no time, I promise."

As there was no way for him to physically escape the oncoming danger, Ron did the only thing his frantic mind could come up with, namely shut his eyes, let his head roll to one side and -- quite masterfully -- feigned sleep. Not a second to soon, either. He heard the curtains being pulled to one side, and then after a few moments there came a tentative, "Ron?"

His heart hammered as he struggled to keep his breathing even.

"Ron, are you awake?"

He was a terrible person. Terrible and cowardly. He realised this. But he _was _tired, that was no lie. And a meeting with Lavender would most likely drain him completely. She had a knack for doing that.

So he lay there, silent and still, 'til he heard her tiptoe out again and say to the nurse, "He's asleep now, so I'll come back tomorrow. Thanks anyway."

He waited another minute, just to be on the safe side, then opened his eyes and sat up. So he'd have to go through this charade again tomorrow? _Great. _He realised that sooner or later he'd have to face her, but tomorrow was definitely way too soon, and he dreaded its approach.

Then he had to reconsider, and that goofy grin appeared once again as he remembered the other visit he'd been promised, earlier on.

And suddenly it seemed tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

The end


End file.
